


You Could Have Died

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Inexperienced Sherlock, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervous Sherlock, Reverse Garridebs, Shock, it's only a minor injury, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: A chase ends in an alley, and that should have been the end of it, the criminal cornered should have been easily captured, but John and Sherlock miscalculated, the man has a gun.Otherwise known as the one where Sherlock is injured and John panics (spoiler it is only a minor injury).





	1. The Shot

Time seems to stop. The man John and Sherlock have been chasing is cornered in an alley, and this should have been easy. But suddenly he has a gun. He wasn’t supposed to have a gun. All John can see is the barrel, that small dark hole pointed directly at Sherlock. He opens his mouth, wants to calm the situation, anything to stop him from firing, but before he has even finished drawing breath he sees the man’s finger squeeze on the trigger.

A bright flash appears instantly at the muzzle and a loud crack in the enclosed alley seems as loud as a bomb. It takes half a second for John to tear his eyes away from the gun, he turns to Sherlock and his only thought is that he can see blood. Gushing from his temple, running down to his jaw. He rushes forward, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders, desperate to see, to check the damage. He is vaguely aware of the suspect pushing past, running away, but he really doesn’t care right now. Not until he can be sure that Sherlock is safe.

Sherlock’s lips are slightly parted, his eyes look a little glazed, but he is still on his feet, still breathing. John probes desperately at the wound, terrified that he will find a hole, an entry wound for a bullet that could be doing untold damage inside Sherlock’s brain. He can’t see, the blood is still coming. Oh God. Sherlock still hasn’t moved. What if he is brain damaged? John wipes the blood away, he can’t find the wound, just a graze, more blood wells up and he wipes again, feeling with fingertips for a hole. It isn’t exactly procedure but his medical training seems so far away when all his brain can do is scream at him that Sherlock could be dead right now. Sherlock hisses and winces away when John pushes a little harder.

Tears fill John’s eyes. It’s just a graze. Just a layer of skin taken off of Sherlock’s skull when the bullet had flown by. Another millimetre or two, if the angle had been half, hell maybe a quarter of a degree different that bullet could have gone straight in, shattering bone, destroying precious brain cells. He is breathing heavily, realises that his left hand is clamped tight to Sherlock’s right shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh under his jacket, will probably bruise, and his right hand is cupping the back of Sherlock’s head fingers twisted in his hair. He forces himself to let go and takes a step back.

Breathlessly he imparts his diagnosis, he can barely hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears, “It’s a graze, you should be fine.” The tears rolling down his cheeks seem to contradict his words.

Sherlock blinks, blinks again and lifts his head to find John’s eyes. He sounds stunned as he says “He shouldn’t have had a gun.” He has tears in his eyes, his hands hang by his sides and John can see them trembling.

John steps forward again, the blood has slowed but is still oozing steadily, covering the side of Sherlock’s face and dripping down to the collar of his shirt and the shoulder of his jacket. There are smears on his cheek from where John has been wiping it away, and his hair is matted in it from when John’s fingers had tangled in it. John pulls his scarf off and presses it against the side of Sherlock’s head, applying pressure to stem the flow. He notices that his hand is covered in blood, right up to his wrist and it is soaked into the sleeve of his jumper.

 

John’s voice breaks, “You could have died!”

Sherlock looks at him but doesn’t respond, his gaze slow, his eyes heavy. He is becoming pale and John takes the pulse in his neck finding it far too rapid. The trembling has spread from his hands to his whole frame. 

“You’re going into shock.” John leads Sherlock to a pile of boxes at the side of the alley and sits him down, leaning him back against the bare brick wall. The blood flow has slowed significantly, more of a drip than a stream, and John removes the scarf, dropping it to the ground. He fumbles in his pockets and finds his phone, his fingers feel thick and unresponsive but he manages to call Lestrade and tell him where they are and what has happened. He then slumps to sit on the ground at Sherlock’s feet, he notes that his own hands are shaking. He leans against Sherlock’s legs, and rests his head against Sherlock’s knees. He wraps an arm tight around the calves, he isn’t sure whose nerves he is trying to calm.

A police car pulls up at the end of the alley, blue and red lights bathe the scene, and John thinks he hears Sherlock whisper “I’m sorry.”

Greg scrambles out of his car as soon as it stops, another officer emerges from the passenger side but John dismisses them instantly. Not important. Nothing is except for the warmth of the legs he is holding like a security blanket. They are warm and alive, that is all he needs.

“Jesus! Get an ambulance here, now!” Greg barks at his companion.

John tips his head back to look at him, silhouetted against the flashing lights that Greg neglected to turn off in his haste.

“It’s just a graze, and a little shock. I can deal with it at home.”

Greg looks up and down, between Sherlock and John. “No you can’t. You both look like shit. No arguments.”

John is just about to do exactly that, but when he stands to discuss it face to face a wave of dizziness overtakes him and he has to instead grab Greg’s arm to stop himself falling down.

“Dammit, I’m meant to be a soldier, I can’t go into shock.”

Greg lowers him back to the ground and says, “It’s ok mate, don’t worry about it.” 

He takes off his jacket and drapes it around Sherlock’s shoulders over his coat. John looks up and studies Sherlock’s face, too pale, the blood standing out a bright crimson in contrast. His eye’s look vacant, his chest rises and falls rapidly as he pants, but he is alive. John jumps when a blanket is wrapped around him, he hadn’t noticed Greg approaching with it. John reaches up and finds Sherlock’s wrist, pressing his fingers to the pulse point he can feel the thrum, thrum of blood, too fast, but much better than nothing at all.

An ambulance arrives. John wants to protest, he should be looking after Sherlock, but his head is fuzzy and he honestly doesn’t know how much time has passed. The paramedics bustle over, efficient, not rushed. They have a stretcher. They have equipment. They have hands that are steady and sure, and John knows Sherlock will be safe. He gives in and allows them to take charge.


	2. Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the flat, revelations and all that comes after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments on the first chapter. I hope that this fits in with it.

It is the early hours of the morning before Greg drops them back at Baker Street. The paramedics had assessed them and disinfected and dressed Sherlock’s wound. They had been taken to the hospital for observation, but once warmed up and away from the scene of Sherlock’s near death incident they had rapidly recovered.

John drags Sherlock into the flat, his hand clamped firmly around Sherlock’s wrist. He is full, full of emotion and he isn’t quite sure what to label it. Relief, fear, lingering traces of shock, anger, all warring for attention. In the end though it is the anger that wins out, and maybe it should really be aimed at the man who caused this, the man with the gun, but he isn’t here and John is ready to explode with it all.

Not waiting even for Sherlock to sit down John crowds into his space, his fist clenching rhythmically and growls, “How can you do that to me? You would have left me, again. I can’t, I just can’t do it again Sherlock.”

Sherlock swallows and avoids John’s eyes as he whispers, “You would get over it, last time you found yourself a wife. I’m sure you can manage again.”

John steps back in shock, how can Sherlock think that? “She...she was a fucking assassin. Anyway that isn’t what I want.”

Sherlock shakes his head in despair and implores, “What the hell do you want then?! I do everything I can think of to make you happy. I try to make your life interesting. I try not to annoy you, I keep the kitchen clean, I keep my experiments as contained as possible. I even started doing the shopping and cooking. And still you aren’t happy. I can see it in your eyes every day. You say you don’t want me to die. You don’t want a wife. But the life we have isn’t doing it. What. Do. You. Want??”

John’s voice is small, desperate and hopeless. “I want you. Just you. I don’t want an interesting life, not if it means losing you. I don’t want a clean kitchen or fucking freshly cooked meals. I just want you.”

Sherlock is trembling with emotion and covers his face with his hands, he almost sobs as he says, “I don’t understand.”

John has tears in his eyes, “You. That’s all I want. Anything and everything you can give me. That’s what I want.”

Sherlock peers at John through his fingers, “You,..but,... you mean friends. But I’ve been the best friend I can be, it isn’t enough. You’re miserable.”

John gently pulls Sherlock’s hands away from his face, “No. I don’t mean friends. I want so much more than that, and if you don’t want that I need you to tell me right now so that I can go and have a stiff drink and forget we ever had this conversation.”

“But then you would still be miserable. Nothing would change.”

John smiles wryly, “Miserable with you is a million times better than being without you. Please, please just tell me, one way or the other, what you want.”

Sherlock bites his lip, and wanders over to the desk. He fiddles with some papers for a few seconds then turns back towards John, “I don’t know. John, I don’t know. I’ve never tried this, any of this before. Even our friendship is almost unprecedented for me. Anything else, I don’t think I’ll be good at it, I don’t know what to do.”

John gives him a lopsided smile and approaches slowly, “I didn’t ask if you would be good at it. I asked what you want. We can work it out together, we can take things slowly, anything you need. If you want more. Do you? Is that what you want? Am I what you want?”

Sherlock nods shakily, a tear spills from his eye and runs down his cheek.

John’s eyes brim with tears in response. He takes a step closer and rubs the tear away with his thumb. He smiles, but it keeps almost breaking as he struggles not to sob, “Can I kiss you now? Please?”

Sherlock moves half a step, closing the gap between them even more and nods. John slowly cups the back of his head to draw him down and brushes their lips together. It is brief, not even really a kiss, but they both pull away to take a deep breath. They stare into each others eyes. John licks his lips and his eyes flick to Sherlock’s mouth. He moves back, more steadily now and presses his lips firmly to Sherlock’s. He kisses, then continues, over and over tiny kisses to those perfect lips. Sherlock seems frozen in place for several seconds, but then his brain catches up with proceedings. He clings to John, wrapping his arms firmly around his shoulders, and opening his mouth to invite John to deepen the kiss.

The first touch of their tongues is like electric. Both men stop briefly to process it, then continue with enthusiasm. Desperate to get closer they press together, groin to chest to lips. John pushes Sherlock back until he is pressed up against the desk. The kiss turns a little rough, now that he knows this is allowed he lets himself to show it, holding Sherlock in place with one hand at his nape and the other grasping his hip firmly. 

John pushes his leg between Sherlock’s, feeling the hardness in his trousers and urging him to rub against his thigh. Sherlock’s hips roll a few times, drawing whimpers from his lips, but then he gasps urgently, his voice high and breathless, “Wait! Wait!”

John pulls away a little, his chest heaving, and looks up. He licks his lips as his eyes rove all over Sherlock, pausing briefly when they land on the bulge at his groin, “What’s wrong?”

Sherlock takes a few deep breaths and manages to reply more calmly, “I... you said we could go slowly.”

John hugs him, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck and whispers, “Yeah, of course we can. Anything you need.”

“I do want to...you know. I just, I won’t be good. I’m not sure how to...”

“Come with me.” John leads him by the hand. Takes him to Sherlock’s bedroom and closes the door behind them. “You trust me right?”

“Of course.”

John beams and guides Sherlock to lay down. They are both fully clothed, and John is just realising that they are both still covered in blood, but it really doesn’t matter right now. They lay side by side, Sherlock on his back and John on his side facing him. John caresses Sherlock’s hip, dipping his fingers into the waistband of his trousers and moves to the zip which is straining to hold back the erection within. He draws it down slowly. Sherlock watches him, his breath coming in little puffs through his slightly parted lips. John checks in before going further, “OK?”

Sherlock nods, but still looks nervous.

“You don’t need to do anything, OK? Just let me show you. It’s going to be ok.”

Sherlock seems a little happier, a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth and John just has to kiss him again. He groans when Sherlock licks into his mouth, then responds in kind. He slips his hand into Sherlock’s trousers and finds his way inside his pants. His fingertips brush against the soft skin of his cock and Sherlock whimpers, his back arches and his hips lift off of the bed. “Oh God!”

“Shh, it’s ok.” John soothes, nuzzling into his shoulder. He pushes his hand deeper in the silky underwear and closes his fist around Sherlock’s cock.

“I can’t, John! No. No!”

John swiftly removes his hand and puts it onto Sherlock slightly concave stomach instead, moving it in minute circles to sooth him. “Don’t worry, it’s ok if you don’t want to.”

Sherlock’s face is red, he starts and stops several times before the words will come out, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just, you barely did anything and I nearly...finished. I told you I wouldn’t be good at this.”

John pecks his lips and chuckles, “Finishing is the whole point. We can worry about the fancy stuff later, when you’ve had a bit of practice. For now, this is fine.” As he is speaking he gradually moves his hand down then slips it back inside Sherlock’s clothes and gives him a long slow stroke from root to tip.

All of Sherlock’s muscles tense and he cries out wordlessly, throwing his head back on to the pillow.

John strokes one more time, from tip back down to the base and Sherlock grasps his wrist hard, his fingertips digging in as he climaxes. John can see him gritting his teeth as he tries not to scream, instead a high pitched whine escapes. When he is finished he stares up at the ceiling and bites his lip, then whispers a tiny, “Sorry.”

John kisses his cheek and smiles, “That was brilliant. You were brilliant. God, it is so hot that I can do that to you.”

Sherlock’s lip trembles, “Really?”

“Mhmm. Yes.” John extricates his sticky hand from Sherlock’s underwear and wipes it on his jumper, afterall what's one more bodily fluid when it is already covered in blood? “My turn now.”

“What should I..?”

John kisses Sherlock’s cheek, “Nothing, you just stay right there being sexy.”

Sherlock look a little uncomfortable, shifting slightly on the bed as if considering running away.

John rests a hand on Sherlock’s bicep, gently so as not to make him feel trapped, “Hey. We can be done, if you want. Just say the word.”

“That wouldn’t be fair. You haven’t orgasmed yet.” Sherlock replies.

“I’d rather you were happy.”

Sherlock looks confused, “Really? But, how do I be sexy? What do I need to do?”

John has to kiss him again, “Not one thing darling. You are always sexy.”

Sherlock’s mouth drops open, “Oh!”

“Always, always, always.” John repeats, placing a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, lips and collar bone to punctuate each one. He gazes into Sherlock’s eyes as he pushes his own trousers and pants down just enough to free his erection. He groans in relief when he closes his hand around himself, and barely manages to keep his eyes open when he begins to stroke. 

With his other hand he grasps at Sherlock, eventually settling on entwining their fingers and drawing Sherlock’s hand to his chest. He strokes fast and hard, not trying to draw it out, just wanting to show Sherlock as quickly as he can just how happy he is to be in his bed. His hips rock to the rhythm he has set with his hand, his muscles tensing and his breath huffing faster and faster until only a minute or so later he is coming with a shout all over Sherlock’s hip and bedclothes. He clings desperately to Sherlock’s hand as the last shocks of pleasure go though him, then gradually loosens his grip and slings his arm over Sherlock instead to embrace him.

John can barely keep his eyes open, after all of the adrenaline of today and then a fantastic orgasm he just wants to sleep, even though they are both sticky and filthy, but he mumbles into Sherlock’s ear, “You OK?” 

Sherlock swallows and blinks his eyes rapidly, “Yes. That was, oh John. Thank you.”

John chuckles, “Idiot. You don’t have to thank me. That was great. You know the best bit?”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“We get to do it all again in the morning, and the next day, and the next day, as long as you want.”

Sherlock’s voice is small, shy, “I want forever.”

“Then forever you shall have.” John says, and they lie entwined as they both fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaisyFairy - 'Czarina of Sleepy Time on Baker Street' strikes again (thanks for the title Itsallgood). Yet again I finish a fic with the boys falling asleep, but then after all of that they deserve it.


End file.
